


Stolen Treasures

by ficbear



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Beating, Bondage, Choking, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-26
Updated: 2011-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, don't be coy, Katakura." Matsunaga laughs, setting his cup down. "The incense you've been breathing in can relax and stimulate you, but it can't summon up desires you don't already harbour. So why not be honest with yourself? You consider yourself an honest man, don't you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen Treasures

"As long as I refrain from killing you, Toyotomi's strategist doesn't care what I do with you,"  Matsunaga says, smiling down at Kojuro. "In fact, I think he might even be pleased with what I have planned."

Kojuro grits his teeth, feeling the blade of Kotaro's sword pressing insistently against his throat. He missed his chance, and now Matsunaga has all but won.

"But how will the One-Eyed Dragon respond, I wonder? When he realises what you've undergone, will he hold you close and shed tears of anguish?" A horrible, mocking little flourish of Matsunaga's hand accompanies the words. "Or will he reject you as defiled and worthless? I wonder…"

The ninja moves suddenly, and Kojuro feels the dull impact of a sword handle striking the back of his head. As his vision darkens, Matsunaga's smile is the last thing he sees.

…

The sound of breathing, heavy and rough, wakes him. It takes Kojuro a few moments to realise that those laboured breaths are his own. The wooden floor is cool against his skin, and it's the coolness that jolts him fully awake. He's naked, completely bare except for the lattice of ropes wrapped around him, binding his arms to his torso. The ropes look almost like oversized cobwebs, woven around him in black and white silk. The colours remind him of how he got here, and Kojuro flinches. "Matsunaga," he says, and it sounds like a curse.

"Ah, you're awake." The air is thick with smoky incense, and dimly lit by a few small candelabra. As Matsunaga's voice drifts across the room, Kojuro can barely make out his form. He's sitting at a table at the far end of the room, drinking from a small ornate cup, utterly nonchalant. "I was beginning to wonder if Kotaro had been too rough with you. But then again, even though you were dead to the world, your body has obviously been enjoying itself."

Kojuro pushes himself up to his knees silently, all too aware of the aching heat in his flesh. There's no use pretending not to be aroused, but he's not going to dignify Matsunaga's barb with a response.

"Oh, don't be coy, Katakura." Matsunaga laughs, setting his cup down. "The incense you've been breathing in can relax and stimulate you, but it can't summon up desires you don't already harbour. So why not be honest with yourself? You consider yourself an honest man, don't you?"

Kojuro gives a bitter little laugh. "What would you know about honesty?"

There's a blur of red and black, and then a heavy hand strikes Kojuro's cheek. He rights himself quickly, not wanting Matsunaga's ninja to have the satisfaction of knocking him down again. It will take more than that to subdue him.

"Have your pet work me over as much as you like," Kojuro says, keeping his tone firm and even as he pushes himself up to his feet. "I won't break."

Matsunaga isn't even watching now. His attention seems to be fully held by the cup in his hand, and as he sips at the drink, Kojuro wants nothing more than to smash that cup into a dozen pieces. A few moments pass before Matsunaga speaks.

"Absurd confidence coming from a man who's already been stripped and bound. I doubt you even believe those words yourself." The older man takes another sip, and looks across at Kojuro. "Or perhaps you do. Which is it, Katakura – are you a liar, or merely a fool?"

"You- I'll send you straight back to hell!"

The ninja's fist slams into Kojuro's kidneys, choking off his words. He doubles over, hissing in pain, cursing both of them. Before he can catch his breath, Kotaro is behind him and an armoured forearm is pressing down hard on Kojuro's windpipe. He can feel the muscles of the ninja's body pressing close to his naked flesh, and the hardness of Kotaro's cock feels obscene against him. Gritting his teeth, Kojuro fights against his body's reaction, but it betrays him easily, twitching and squirming against the ninja's flesh, and all Kojuro can do is press his lips shut, determined not to voice the groan he can feel building in his throat.

"What would Date make of this, hm?" Matsunaga's gaze lingers over the lines of Kojuro's body, and Kojuro can feel those eyes on him as keenly as if they were heavy hands, gripping and claiming his flesh. Kojuro struggles, desperately trying to work his wrists free of the rope, trying to ignore the hardness of the body pressed close to his back. "What would your beloved lord think, to see his Right Eye squirming and writhing so hungrily?"

Finally he feels the rope give, just slightly, and he pulls with all his might, wrenching his left arm almost free of its bonds. Almost, but not enough. The ninja's hand closes around Kojuro's throat, and drags him backwards until his body is flush to cool, smooth wood. He's pinned to one of the beams, gasping for air, tensing his hips to keep from bucking them. Fighting against the effects of the incense only seems to worsen it, but what else can he do? Surrendering to Matsunaga's poison isn't an option, not while there's a shred of pride left in him.

"Damn you," he hisses, but it comes out as a choked whisper.

Matsunaga nods, and the ninja's other hand descends on Kojuro, skimming across his chest and stomach, then curling around the shaft of his cock. Kotaro's grip is firm and insistent, cold and as tight as the fingers around Kojuro's throat. Too much to bear, too much by far, and Kojuro moans helplessly, cursing himself, damning his own body or giving up a moan like that for Matsunaga. For anyone.

"Pitiful." Matsunaga says, smiling just slightly.

Kojuro looks away, trying to focus his blurred vision on the ninja's expressionless face. There's no mocking smile on those lips, no smile at all, nothing to suggest that Kotaro even enjoys touching him. Nothing but blankness, emptiness. The ninja's face is like marble, pale and still, and to Kojuro he seems like nothing more than a puppet, a haunted statue. The leather of Kotaro's glove is cool, but each stroke of his fist over Kojuro's cock seems to warm it a little; or maybe it's Kojuro himself who's getting warmer, growing feverish from the drug. His head is muddled, his control is crumbling away with each pass of that tight fist, and he can feel the familiar taut feeling beginning to form in his stomach. It's building faster than usual, much faster, as if Kojuro is being carried away on a wild horse.

A protest bubbles up to the surface, sounding weak on Kojuro's dry lips. "No, I'm… I'm…"

The ninja keeps on stroking him, keeping the same steady, relentless rhythm. Kojuro is right on the precipice, scrabbling to keep control of himself, and he knows Kotaro won't stop unless his master orders it. So, forcing his gaze back to Matsunaga, Kojuro begs. "Stop him, please…"

"You don't often have occasion to beg, do you, Katakura?" Matsunaga's laughter stings. "Well, you've no natural talent for it, but it's a skill that can be taught."

Matsunaga raises his hand slightly, and immediately the ninja releases his hold on Kojuro. He falls to his knees clumsily, breathing hard, his head bowed so that he doesn't have to see Matsunaga's face. He can still feel echoes of the touch of Kotaro's fingers on his flesh, and his pulse races insistently, throbbing fast and hard enough that he can feel it in every limb. Tensing his muscles, trying not to let his eyes wander down to the obscene sight of his swollen, twitching cock, Kojuro tries in vain to master himself.

"You could be taught a great many skills." The words sound terrifying on Matsunaga's lips.

Kojuro looks up, about to shake his head and muster another protest, but the ninja's hand cuts him off. Kotaro's fist tangles in his hair, pulling him forward and grinding his face against the ninja's groin. The heat of Kotaro's cock is palpable against Kojuro's cheek, the hardness of it maddening against his lips. He mumbles an objection, another clumsy plea, but the words drown and sink into the fabric brushing against his mouth.

"Has Date seen you on your knees like this, I wonder? No, I think not. This side of you is well-hidden from him, isn't it, Katakura?"

There's a sharp tug on Kojuro's hair, wrenching his head back. He looks across at Matsunaga, cursing his cheeks for blazing so hotly. Thinking about Masamune is out of the question; Kojuro won't involve him in this, not even the thought of him.

"Leave my lord out of this," he says, and the words sound like a hopeless plea, not a command.

"Oh, is it that painful a thought?" Matsunaga's voice is pure cruelty. "Really, Katakura, hiding your desires from him is a serious deception. To think, there is a part of you of which the One-Eyed Dragon has no knowledge at all…"

Kojuro meets his gaze, and the mockery in those cold eyes infuriates him. As the older man speaks, Kojuro can feel the anger rising in him again, vying with the desire that already has his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

"Amusing, isn't it, that I know you more thoroughly than your own lord? And perhaps even more thoroughly than you know yourself."

A growl of rage rumbles in Kojuro's throat, and he wrenches himself free of the ninja's grip, staggering to his feet and launching himself at Matsunaga. He knows as soon as he moves that it's a pointless gesture, but the fury carries Kojuro forward nevertheless, and he charges towards the table intent on ripping Matsunaga to pieces with his own hands.

The ninja is too fast for him, of course. The half of Kojuro's brain that isn't drunk on rage and lust mocks him for that; what was he thinking? Kotaro's hands close around his arms, tight as vices, and Kojuro finds himself slammed down face-first over the table. That damned tea cup rattles tauntingly with the violence of the impact.

"Eager to move matters along, are you?" Matsunaga picks up the cup, and takes a slow sip, watching Kojuro with eyes lightened by amusement. "I don't blame you, Katakura. Patience isn't always a virtue, after all, and we don't have _all_ night."

A little wave of Matsunaga's hand prompts the ninja into action again, and Kojuro feels one of those merciless hands release its hold on his arm. It take him a moment to realise what the ninja is doing. His treacherous body shivers as soon as he realises he's about to be fucked, and Kojuro curses himself again. There's still a tight ball of anger in his chest, but the rest of Kojuro is trembling, throbbing with hunger, and the sight of Matsunaga's smiling eyes is maddening. "What-" Kojuro's tongue falters as he feels the first touch of oil-slicked flesh. "What have you done to me?"

"Oh, very little, so far."

The ninja pushes in slowly. There's a note of relief in Kojuro's groan as he feels his body yielding to the gradual violation. At least, he thinks, Matsunaga doesn't intend this to hurt. Gritting his teeth against another groan, Kojuro lets his eyes close and digs his nails into his palms. The relentless pressure, hot and smooth and thick, spreads him open and fills him up until the ninja's cock is buried deep inside him. It's too much, too overwhelming a feeling to bear, and Kojuro lets out a moan that sounds like a plea.

"That's nowhere near enough for you, is it?"

He can't answer, except to stare up at Matsunaga helplessly. He's breathing too fast, too shallow, his mind is a jumble of shame and desire, and there aren't any words for how much Kojuro wants to be fucked right now. He tenses his muscles and holds himself still, willing himself not to give in and start moving against Kotaro. His silence seems to amuse Matsunaga, and the older man nods towards the ninja, moving his gaze from Kojuro's face only long enough to deliver the command. Kotaro fucks him hard, right from the start, as steadily and relentlessly as if by clockwork. Each stroke feels like a punch, like a blow struck directly to Kojuro's self-control. His voice isn't his own now, and he moans pitifully, hopelessly, biting his lips to try to muffle the awful noise. It's fruitless, though; now Kojuro is as much Matsunaga's puppet as Kotaro, and he knows it, even through the fog of pleasure.

"What a pleasing sound." Matsunaga says, as if he's talking to himself. His thumb brushes across Kojuro's lips, lingering there for a moment, then pushes in past them. Dimly, Kojuro knows he should resist; he should let Matsunaga feel his teeth against that invading flesh, should make a least a gesture of protest, even if it's hopeless. But the older man's hand is so warm against his lips, and that thumb is sliding firmly against Kojuro's tongue, taunting him with what they both know he wants. When Matsunaga withdraws his hand and begins to unfasten his trousers, it's a relief. To be beaten and fucked is bad enough, but being teased is unbearable.

Kojuro strains against his bonds as Matsunaga’s cock fills his mouth, pushing his muscles against the tight rope until it burns. The taste and the scent of the older man, all spices and smoke, fills his senses. He keeps his eyes pressed shut and lets his tongue do as it will; it sweeps and slides against Matsunaga's shaft, exploring every inch of hard flesh in its reach, searing the taste of him into Kojuro's mind.

"How will you ever be able to kiss your lord again, Katakura?" Matsunaga's voice is low and mocking. "Could you bear to touch him with those sullied lips of yours, now?"

Kojuro groans in frustration, pushing the image of Masamune back out of his mind and clenching his fists. He's already submitted, overwhelmed by the poison in the air, and given up his body. What more does Matsunaga want from him? Pinned between the ninja and his master, it seems as if that merciless pounding rhythm will grind him away to dust. Kojuro feels each impact, each thrust, echoing through his flesh like a shockwave. He tries to steady himself, but the onslaught has made his body weak, and he can feel himself slipping away every time those hips slam against him. Swallowing a groan of disbelief, Kojuro twitches and bucks between the two men, tumbling rapidly towards the edge of orgasm.

And all at once, he's empty again. His throat, raw and wet, gasps for breath. Stranded on the precipice of coming, Kojuro looks up at Matsunaga, then glances over his shoulder to where Kotaro was; nothing but empty air remains. He's still bewildered, scrabbling to harness his thoughts into coherence, when Matsunaga stands and moves away from the table. It takes Kojuro a moment to realise why the ninja is gone, and why Matsunaga is now circling him, drawing close behind him like a wolf approaching its prey. A ragged little whimper, a voice that no longer sounds like his own, hums in Kojuro's throat.

Strong hands, too strong, haul him upright and spin him around. Kojuro yelps with the impact as he's shoved down onto the table, spread out on his back with the weight of his body pressing painfully on his bound arms. He looks away, moving his eyes from the ceiling to the far wall, letting his eyelids drift half-closed. What he wants, what he needs, is too much to admit face-to-face. Better to just let Matsunaga do what he will, surrender and ride out the shameful pleasure of it like a passenger.

But there's no chance of that. "Really, Katakura," Matsunaga says, gripping his chin and forcing Kojuro to meet his eyes, "timidity doesn't suit you."

The feeling of being fucked again is too sweet, too potent, and Kojuro's moans are loud and wild as Matsunaga slams into him. There's nothing but the burning, aching pleasure of it. Nothing in Kojuro's mind but the sensation of being filled, the need for more and harder. When the rope around his right arm goes slack, Kojuro only vaguely notices the sudden freedom, and it's only when Matsunaga's hand closes around his wrist, guiding his hand down, that Kojuro realises what he's being allowed. What he's being _commanded_. He curls his fingers gratefully around the length of his cock, letting Matsunaga's grip guide his pace, and closes his eyes as he feels the edge rushing up to meet him. A few light strokes is all it takes before Kojuro is groaning helplessly, bucking and arching up off the table, dousing the skin of his chest and stomach with come. His mind is blank, exhausted and spent, and he collapses back onto the cool wood beneath him, breathing hard.

A groan, lower and softer than his own, drags Kojuro's attention back to the man above him. "Exquisite," Matsunaga says, sounding almost intoxicated himself, as if the poison in the air has finally affected him. But his eyes are fixed on Kojuro's, dark and smiling, making it clear just what he's drunk on. Pride and greed, hunger and the pleasure of enjoying something – someone – that belongs to another. He looks like a hawk savouring a stolen kill. Kojuro braces himself, gripping the edge of the table with his free hand, as Matsunaga pounds into him again and again, finally coming inside Kojuro with a harsh moan of satisfaction. At last, Kojuro can look away. At last, he can close his eyes and push away the image of the man who has undone him.

…

"Are you not grateful?" Hanbei says, quirking his lips in a poisonous little smile. "Being reunited with an old acquaintance can be _such_ a pleasure, don't you agree?"

Kojuro's muscles are still aching, burning with pain every time he moves. He stays frozen in place, kneeling silently as if he were made of ice. His body is littered with livid purple bruises, but they are mercifully hidden beneath the lines of his clothes. The dark blush of red on his left cheek is the only mark Matsunaga left visible for the strategist to see. It seems to please Hanbei; Kojuro forces himself to stay still, to resist the urge to flinch, as that slim hand traces a path along the line of his bruised cheek.

"Of course, a reunion with the ghost of Masamune would have been preferable, impossible as that is. But nevertheless you enjoyed yourself quite _thoroughly_ , didn't you, Katakura?"

Staring forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the far wall, Kojuro clenches his fists and says nothing.


End file.
